Video written, directed, produced by Mello Ayo
![Picture](/uploads/1/1/1/0/111063137/editor/repatriation-africa-on-canvass.jpg?250)
Mello’s most recent publication is Good Morning, Afrika! self-published in Fall 2016. A photo-travel journal, Good Morning, Afrika! is based on a trip made to Ghana in October 2015. While travelling, Mello kept a journal to record his experiences. At first, the exercise of keeping a daily journal seemed insignificant beyond the personal. However, as time went by, it became profoundly clear that something unmistakably monumental and profound was unfolding. The journal at first glance was an attempt to record. However, it soon became clear that a deeper monumental discovery was about to be made. This is more than a photo-journal. Rather, this is an act of self-discovery. The journal reads like a meditation; it reads like a community restoration project of remembrance, and forgiveness, dedicated to the healing of old wounds and to the transcendence of history.
“Travel far enough, you meet yourself,” said David Mitchell, author of Cloud Atlas. Reading this photo-journal is akin to travelling without having to leave where you are. Like Mello Ayo, on this trip you may meet yourself and discover even more.
[Paperback copies available through store while supplies last.]
“Travel far enough, you meet yourself,” said David Mitchell, author of Cloud Atlas. Reading this photo-journal is akin to travelling without having to leave where you are. Like Mello Ayo, on this trip you may meet yourself and discover even more.
[Paperback copies available through store while supplies last.]
Excerpt: On Arrival
Local time: 11:30 am. Accra is sweltering! - 30 plus degrees Celsius. From above, the colour of the brown earth in parts appeared deep red, the pale blue sea tightly hugging the shore, foaming white along the edge as it washed up against the hem of the continent. My own reflections washed up against the shores of my drifting meandering thoughts as I tried to imagine what it was like having to involuntarily leave these shores behind while being buried in the dark belly of a ship packed tightly, naked, scared, scarred and shackled, the foul smell of an unknown future waiting like death. In this dark contemplation I heard a voice whisper...
You have returned now! Welcome home! Welcome home! We have been wondering where you have been. The truth is we have always known where you are. You left us. We did not leave you.
Sultriest of all continents, the richest, the original birthplace, the skull, the head, home to the Sahara, Kush, and the Ashanti empire, and Songhai and Mali; home to the Kalahari, Sahara deserts the Congo rainforest, and rivers Nile, Niger, and Volta. Home of the harmattan, of Lake Victoria and Victoria Falls, of Mosi Oa Tunya, Zambia, Rwanda, Burundi and Uganda, Namibia and Angola, Ethiopia and Ghana – Africa, the home of civilization, of humanity, far from across the Atlantic ocean I have returned to greet you. Like a son separated from a parent by unrest, duress, traumatic stress, like a refugee returning to high life, Serengeti and wildlife, I have come home finally to rediscover that which I have lost. I missed the grandeur of your Great Rift Valley, the beauty of your primal plants, and mammals, the sounds of your wild birds singing while waiting, watching, flying free. I have forgotten what it was like to watch a baboon strut, or a wolf sprint. I missed the galloping of your giraffes, the sight of your tigers lunging for the kill, and the sight of vultures overhead soaring, eagles flying, wings flutter-free in your open African sky floating above without reserve over your diverse ecosystems which was once my habitat home. I have forgotten how to gaze upward at the stars and how to read their meaning. Africa, I have come home to you. I come as a mere shadow of my former self, starving and hungry. I come knocking. Open your door and count me in. Count me as one of your own, for I have returned. I know that you too are a mere shadow of your former self, but still, here I am waiting, waiting to bathe again in your ancient rivers. Wash me so that I may be Black again.
I came here to reconnect with my Ancestors. I have been exiled from my home, so long, wandering, lost. I have forgotten who I am. I have come home to rediscover and remember. I have come to seek your wisdom and the guidance of your kingdom.
As the plane touched down, I wondered what Africa would have been had she not been invaded. What if she had been left to evolve as one whole country rather than becoming a continent splintered into seemingly incongruent parts? What would Africa have been like had she been free from the rapacious greed of non- Africans who came with their eyes popping, conscience tightly shut, blood-thirsty, mouths dripping wet with envy for Africa’s abundance?
As the plane sank to meet the runway, I became aware that I was not entering one Africa but many Africas; that I would only be seeing one very small part of it. Besides Ghana, there are 50 or so other artificially created nations, each with its own historical drama, people, culture, beliefs and varied lingua franca. There would be much I would not see on this trip – Senegal, Malawi, Angola, Mozambique, and Nigeria too. Places like Somalia, Eritrea, and Zambia to name a few. European acquisitiveness has impacted them all. Arrogantly, Europeans haggled over and ripped up African territories among themselves with little or no regard for the indigenous people or their cultures, imposing instead a foreign inharmonious worldview to which native Africans were required to comply. Ethiopia was the only African state to successfully defend itself against European domination. For this reason, I made sure to take extra deep breaths while in Addis Ababa to fill myself with the antidote, knowing full well that Ethiopia today is not without its struggles.
But now we were in Accra. As we landed, moving through customs and immigration, wading out into the congested heat of a Ghanaian morning, we were greeted by a multitude of Black men and women. For some strange reason this felt like a significant encounter. We could not help but be struck by how much this felt like home in a variety of ways – spiritually and otherwise. It felt like home in a physical sense. It felt like we were in Jamaica. The language aside, this place had the essence of Jamaica in its noise, music, the way the people mingled and milled about petitioning, hustling, hawking and generally going about their business.
Local time: 11:30 am. Accra is sweltering! - 30 plus degrees Celsius. From above, the colour of the brown earth in parts appeared deep red, the pale blue sea tightly hugging the shore, foaming white along the edge as it washed up against the hem of the continent. My own reflections washed up against the shores of my drifting meandering thoughts as I tried to imagine what it was like having to involuntarily leave these shores behind while being buried in the dark belly of a ship packed tightly, naked, scared, scarred and shackled, the foul smell of an unknown future waiting like death. In this dark contemplation I heard a voice whisper...
You have returned now! Welcome home! Welcome home! We have been wondering where you have been. The truth is we have always known where you are. You left us. We did not leave you.
Sultriest of all continents, the richest, the original birthplace, the skull, the head, home to the Sahara, Kush, and the Ashanti empire, and Songhai and Mali; home to the Kalahari, Sahara deserts the Congo rainforest, and rivers Nile, Niger, and Volta. Home of the harmattan, of Lake Victoria and Victoria Falls, of Mosi Oa Tunya, Zambia, Rwanda, Burundi and Uganda, Namibia and Angola, Ethiopia and Ghana – Africa, the home of civilization, of humanity, far from across the Atlantic ocean I have returned to greet you. Like a son separated from a parent by unrest, duress, traumatic stress, like a refugee returning to high life, Serengeti and wildlife, I have come home finally to rediscover that which I have lost. I missed the grandeur of your Great Rift Valley, the beauty of your primal plants, and mammals, the sounds of your wild birds singing while waiting, watching, flying free. I have forgotten what it was like to watch a baboon strut, or a wolf sprint. I missed the galloping of your giraffes, the sight of your tigers lunging for the kill, and the sight of vultures overhead soaring, eagles flying, wings flutter-free in your open African sky floating above without reserve over your diverse ecosystems which was once my habitat home. I have forgotten how to gaze upward at the stars and how to read their meaning. Africa, I have come home to you. I come as a mere shadow of my former self, starving and hungry. I come knocking. Open your door and count me in. Count me as one of your own, for I have returned. I know that you too are a mere shadow of your former self, but still, here I am waiting, waiting to bathe again in your ancient rivers. Wash me so that I may be Black again.
I came here to reconnect with my Ancestors. I have been exiled from my home, so long, wandering, lost. I have forgotten who I am. I have come home to rediscover and remember. I have come to seek your wisdom and the guidance of your kingdom.
As the plane touched down, I wondered what Africa would have been had she not been invaded. What if she had been left to evolve as one whole country rather than becoming a continent splintered into seemingly incongruent parts? What would Africa have been like had she been free from the rapacious greed of non- Africans who came with their eyes popping, conscience tightly shut, blood-thirsty, mouths dripping wet with envy for Africa’s abundance?
As the plane sank to meet the runway, I became aware that I was not entering one Africa but many Africas; that I would only be seeing one very small part of it. Besides Ghana, there are 50 or so other artificially created nations, each with its own historical drama, people, culture, beliefs and varied lingua franca. There would be much I would not see on this trip – Senegal, Malawi, Angola, Mozambique, and Nigeria too. Places like Somalia, Eritrea, and Zambia to name a few. European acquisitiveness has impacted them all. Arrogantly, Europeans haggled over and ripped up African territories among themselves with little or no regard for the indigenous people or their cultures, imposing instead a foreign inharmonious worldview to which native Africans were required to comply. Ethiopia was the only African state to successfully defend itself against European domination. For this reason, I made sure to take extra deep breaths while in Addis Ababa to fill myself with the antidote, knowing full well that Ethiopia today is not without its struggles.
But now we were in Accra. As we landed, moving through customs and immigration, wading out into the congested heat of a Ghanaian morning, we were greeted by a multitude of Black men and women. For some strange reason this felt like a significant encounter. We could not help but be struck by how much this felt like home in a variety of ways – spiritually and otherwise. It felt like home in a physical sense. It felt like we were in Jamaica. The language aside, this place had the essence of Jamaica in its noise, music, the way the people mingled and milled about petitioning, hustling, hawking and generally going about their business.
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